The Afterglow and the Come-Down: What No One Tells You About Performing

Hey,

Let’s talk about something most performers don’t say out loud.

The show’s over.
The lights are down.
The adrenaline has done its job—and now you’re back in the car, or on the couch, or in bed… wide awake or weirdly flat.

That feeling?
That hollow, buzzing, what-now drop?

That’s the come-down. And it’s real.

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It’s Not Just In Your Head

When we perform—especially in front of an audience—our bodies flood with a cocktail of chemicals: adrenaline, cortisol, dopamine, endorphins.

That mix creates a temporary altered state. It’s why you can go onstage tired or anxious and feel electric the moment you start. It’s why performing feels addictive—because chemically, it is.

Studies show that live performance can activate the mesolimbic reward system—the same system involved in motivation, pleasure, and yes… addiction. Dopamine levels spike in anticipation and execution, especially if there’s risk, attention, or connection involved.

So when it ends?

The chemicals drop.
The body recalibrates.
The nervous system tries to come back to baseline.

But sometimes it overshoots.
Cue: fatigue, anxiety, overthinking, self-doubt, even sadness.

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For Performers in Recovery: A Double-Edged Sword

As someone 35+ years sober, I know how slippery this can be.

When I was using, I was chasing the oblivion of the high.

When I got clean, I chased it through music. Through performance.

It felt safer, more creative, more me—and it was. But the crash still came.

If you’re in recovery, this stuff can sneak up on you.
It can feed that loop: high > crash > discomfort > craving.
Even if the substance is applause, adrenaline, or being seen.

The trick is learning to ride the wave—without needing to escape it.

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What Helps (For Real)

This isn’t about avoiding the come-down. You can’t. But you can build practices around it.

• Plan decompression time. Even if you are on tour and the schedule is full, you can grab a hot shower or a warm bath or a midnight swim

• Ground your body. Food, a walk with a friend, stretching.
  
  

• Expect the drop. It doesn’t mean the show went badly. It means you're coming down from a neurochemical peak.
  
  

• Talk it out. A friend, a journal, a voice memo to yourself—get the swirl out of your head.
  
  

• Watch for the stories. The thoughts that come in the crash are often distorted. “I messed it up” is usually just “I’m tired.”
  
  

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You’re Not Broken—You’re Wired for Depth

Performers are sensitive systems. We light up easily. We come down hard. We feel everything.

That’s not a flaw. That’s a feature.

And when we understand what’s happening—neurologically, emotionally, physically—we can stop beating ourselves up for the crash.
And start treating it as part of the cycle.
A part that deserves care, not shame.

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If this hits home for you—or if you’re a performer in recovery navigating all the big feelings—know that you're not alone.

I teach voice, expression, and creative resilience for people who feel things deeply.
For people who want to reconnect with their voice in a way that feels sustainable—not just spectacular.

You don’t have to burn out to burn bright.
You just have to learn how to land.

Warmly,
Lisa